


Hypersexuality

by ghostnovelist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, BDSM, Baker Dean Winchester, Bondage, Condoms, Crossdressing Kink, Crying, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Exhibitionist Dean Winchester, First Time Blow Jobs, Forced Prostitution, Ignored Safeword, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Masochism, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Parent Mary Winchester, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Drug Addiction, Past Infidelity, Past Rape/Non-con, Phone Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Rough Sex, Sadism, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Sex Addiction, Sex Toys, Sexually Frustrated Dean Winchester, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, Sexually Transmitted Infections, Size Kink, Therapist Castiel (Supernatural), Unsafe Sex, Voice Kink, Vomiting, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostnovelist/pseuds/ghostnovelist
Summary: soul mate/ˈsōl ˌmāt/nounnoun: soulmatea person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.—Dean doesn't believe love or soulmates for people that are like him. For people who sit in a circle in a dingy, old building and talk about how they tried not to jerk it for two hours.It doesn't exist and Dean will continue living his life believing that those fated together are also those fated to separate.It really starts going down hill when his supposed "soulmate" is also his sex therapist and neighbour.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 71





	1. Mosquitoes

**Author's Note:**

> Hope this will make up for LB not being completed any time soon.
> 
> Tags updated as I go on.

> _"Sexual addiction or hypersexuality is defined as a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasy, often in combination with the obsessive pursuit of casual or non-intimate sex; pornography; compulsive masturbation; romantic intensity and objectified partner sex for a period of at least six months."_

It's an ill-timed itch, Dean would say. A sudden bite that you might get from a mosquito during the springtime that has your leg jerking in response. And it could happen anywhere really; at the store, a funeral, hanging around family, or a doctor's office. 

Dean's had his unfair share of all four.

He didn't really notice when it started to happen. He assumes his brain blocked it out, he's told that often happens when trauma is involved. It's weird though; he hates sexual intimacy but craves it like good a bottle of cheap whiskey yet he hates showering or looking at his body in the mirror, but give him a bottle of cherry astroglide and lock him in his room, he'll empty out the container. 

Dean can almost always tell when it starts. He gets irritated, impatient, and anxious; heat forms in his gut and his cock doesn't get hard sometimes but it throbs and pulses, getting at half mass and never going down. 

He usually hates himself afterward. There's this sense of nakedness and guilt that he ends up repeating the next day. But he loves it too; he loves when his stomach clenches and his toes curl as he spills into his hand while trying to gather up the courage to shower in the mornings.

It's not just Busty Asian Beauties that he'll jerk it too; if Cupcake Wars is playing and he gets the urge then it just happens. He'll stain his pants thinking about what it might feel like to sink into the filling of a chocolate cupcake. Or if he's having a bad day, some dickhead up his ass about why his cookies are so expensive, he'll lock himself in his office until his cock is weeping. 

Apparently, that's not normal. 

> _"Sexual addiction is not defined by what or who the individual finds arousing, but rather by self- and other-objectified, repetitive patterns of sexual behavior utilized to stabilize distress and to manage emotional triggers."_

But Dean's fine. What happened back then was a mistake, he's moved on. And even though tears gather in his eyes every time he ghosts his hand underneath his balls; even though he can't look himself in the mirror after cradling his cock in his hand for two hours; even though he's afraid to take off his clothes when the sun goes down.

"Shit." Dean sucks his teeth, tossing the container of cranberries into his reusable bag. Between his legs, his cock throbs and twitches inside his sweats. Who would've thought he'd get it up in front of a pack of Hersheys.

He sets aside the empty basket atop of the others and digs inside his pockets for his debit card. 

"Friggin' tap." he grunts, annoyance climbing up his neck as he hovers his card over the scanner after it fails to take the chip. Dean shoves the piece of plastic back in his pocket and hooks his fingers around the handle of his bags before slouching his back as he walks out the store. 

It's dark outside, the nimbostratus clouds are clumped together and Dean can smell the start of heavy rain. He takes a second to put his hood over his head before walking to his car.

Dean sets the bag on the floor of the passenger seat of the Impala, using his hip to close the door before jogging to his side and collapsing in the seat. Dean glances down, up, to his sides, and then down again, creeping his hand to palm at his cock. 

He's parked away from the store, there's no cars around him aside from an Lincoln Continental parked across the way that looks dead on its wheels. No harm if anyone can't see him right? 

Dean pushes down the front of his sweats, hooking his thumb under the rim of his boxers and pants and push them underneath his balls. His cock, only at half mass, wobbles and leaks against the grey cotton. Dean slouches against his seat, spreads his legs, and wraps a loose fist around his cock. 

"Shit," he hisses, toes curling in his boots as he uses his nail to press into his wet urethra. "Oh fuck." he gasps, using his other hand to roll his balls between cold fingers. He's only two limp strokes in but his skin is flushed and his hips are chasing the warmth of his hand. Dean smooths his thumb over the tip, sucking in a harsh breath and shuddering forward as he spills into his hand.

It's not the most mind-blowing orgasm Dean's had but it settles his nerves and makes him feel like a functioning person again so he'll take it. He watches as his cock softens and lays limp against his sweatpants and he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, before reaching into the glove compartment with his clean hand and pulling out a box of tissues. 

Dean's balling up the used napkin and slowly dragging his eyes up to the windshield when cock gives a faint twitch of interest and his eyebrows quirk upwards. Looks like someone was watching. 

The man doesn't seem particularly worried about what Dean is doing but his arms are crossed as he leans against the dingy Lincoln Continental and his head is tilted as if he's studying Dean. 

Dean raises his hand lazily and the man's lips quirk as he tips his head forward. Dean puts his hand down awkwardly as a tingle crawls up his spine and he starts Baby with shaky hands, not bothering to put his dick back in his pants, feeling that same tingle even as he exits the store. 

"Took you long enough." Sam bitches once Dean walks through the front door with bags on each of his arms. Sam's hair is pulled into what Dean likes to call, "the study bun.", and he's wearing the same pants he had on a week ago.

"When's the last time you showered?" Dean purses his lips and scrunches his nose when Sam walks over to grab some of the bags. Sam scoffs as he sets down the paper on marble countertops. 

"When's the last time you had one partner?" Sam bites and Dean cocks his eyebrow, shocked but not hurt by the jab and Sam sighs as he unpack the bags. Dean toes off his wet boots and follows. 

"I'm sorry. I'm just–" 

"Stressed. Yeah, no, I got it." Dean shrugs and turns his back to stock the pantry. "Today's the last day, huh?" 

Sam exhales and gives a small smile, knocking to glass pasta sauce containers together. "Yup. All my stuff is packed up in Garth's truck so I can move the rest to Eileen's." 

"Want me to follow with the small stuff?" Dean asks into the fridge. Sam glances at him from the side of his eyes and frowns his eyebrows. 

"You can't. You have your appointment tomorrow." Dean waves his hand dismissively and Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm serious, Dean. You'll be awake, right?"

Dean hums, closing the fridge. "Isn't that what the day traumas are for?" he jokes but it falls flat and Sam face shifts into one of guilt. "I'll be fine, Samuel." Sam casts Dean a concerned glance.

"Follow the rules." is all Sam says and Dean's armpits prickle and he grunts in response.

"I know." Dean frowns, putting away the bags. "Go shower so Eileen doesn't smell your B.O and regret dating your ass." Dean snaps, trying hard to weave humor into his voice but now he's agitated and a sudden wave of sadness creeps up to his throat.

It wouldn't be so bad go tug one out while Sam's in the shower, would it? He already did it six times today, anymore and he won't be able to drink coffee tomorrow morning. 

Signing, Dean walks to his room and kicks the door shut before falling face first into bed. He dreads looking up and to the side and seeing the neat, bolded lettering on the chalkboard painted wall. 

_"I made a list–rules that you have to follow so that this doesn't happen again!" Sam had said, hair shaggy and covering his eyes, shoulders slouched as he tried not to let Dean see the tears gathering in his eyes._

_"Rules, huh?" Dean grinned, all teeth with a duffle bag tossed over his shoulder._

_"So you don't have to go back there." Sam muttered, voice sad and small and Dean's grin dropped._

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. How old had Sam been then? Sixteen? Seventeen? And Dean was around twenty one, fresh out of rehab with mental scars that'll last him a lifetime and then some.

A itch on the curve of Dean's thigh makes him twitch and he buries deeper into the sheets. Sometimes the mosquito bites are for a drink; a scotch that's been stolen from a small, crappy Walmart with no cameras. Or something stronger; something that makes blood rise in the back of his throat and his head dizzy. Something that he can heat up over a spoon and a lighter with the homeless people in the alleyway. 

Like father, like son. 

_But you would never hurt Sam like John hurt you._ A voice reminds. _You would never dress him up in skirts and call him a good girl._

"Fuckin' shut up." Dean mutters, a deep tug at the bottom of his gut making him nauseous. His cock is half hard in his jeans but there's tears dampening his pillow and his heart is trying to jump out of his chest.

Six times. Dean can only do it six times, that's the rule. If Dean doesn't follow it then something bad will happen, that's how it _works._

Dean turns onto his side and slowly brings his palm down to his bulge, curling his toes and exhaling lowly. He won't get off, he just needs to—

"Fuck," Dean hisses, jerking his hips forward. It hurts and his thighs are itchy and he hiccups around a gasp of air. It's just a small touch, just to stop the mosquitos from biting. Dean uses one hand to hook his thumb over the material and push it down so the glistening tip of his cock hangs open in the air. 

He uses the tip of his finger to smear the precum around the sensitive gland and sucks in a sharp breath when lazy dribble comes out of his cock, staining the sheets below him. 

A curious knock sounds on Dean's door and his cock gives a violent jerk before spilling messily onto the forest green sheets. Tears gather in Dean's eyes and he sucks in his bottom lip as he stares at the mess.

"Dean?" 

"Yeah?" he responds, voice cracking just the tiniest bit. 

"Call me after therapy, okay?" 

"You leavin' now?" 

"Yeah, yeah I am. Eileen's busy tomorrow and the key hasn't been duplicated, we figured it was just better for me to hall my stuff in there tonight." 

_Don't leave me. I'm so tired of being alone, please don't—_

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Dean says instead, forced cheerfulness spilling through his teeth. 

"I'll check on your shop before school. Give Charlie the heads up that you're coming back." 

"Thanks, 'preciate it. Go be with your girl." 

Sam sighs. "Love you, Dean." 

"Love you too, Samsquatch." 

Sam lets out a short puff of air before racking his knuckles against the door three times. Dean lies in his mess quietly, listening as Sam switches off the hallway lights before taking his leave. 

Dean swallows and closes his eyes. "S-Sam," he rasps, inhaling shakily. "Sammy!" he hollers, ignoring how hot his cheeks have gotten because of the tears sliding down his face; ignoring how his cock is throbbing from where it's cupped in Dean's hands, stained with his earlier release. 

Dean hiccups and coughs wetly. 

He did this. He didn't follow the rules. It's six times. Six times a day that he can touch himself but just now, when Sam—that was seven. 

Dean curls in on himself, smearing his cum into the sheets, and weeps. Just a bit because Dean doesn't cry. Not really. In rehab everyone cries, they sob until the inside of their throats are caked with blood or until they pass out. Dean didn't cry; he let out teary breaths of regret and longing but he hasn't cried since back then.

Since John—

Dean bolts upright, slapping a hand over his mouth and tripping over his slouching pants until his knees make contact with the hard tile of the bathroom floor and he's hunched over the toilet. 

"Stop, stop, stop." Dean mummers into the toilet bowl, his knuckles are white from the grip he has on the rim. He can't think about it, fuck, he gets like this every damn time. Tear droplets fall into the liquid abyss below him and Dean forces himself to make a noise.

One that's painfully ripped from deep in his stomach and has his lips stained the faintest of reds. 

And it isn't until his tears are dry and his throat is caked with blood that he feels the mosquitos start to bite again.


	2. Ripened Raspberries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was supposed to be a dog in this one.

Dean regrets waking up; his cheek is pressed against the cold of the toilet seat and his eyes are crusted together, last night's puke is wafting up his nose causing another wave of sick to wash over him. 

"Shit," he rasps, sitting back against the cold porcelain of his tub. Dean's shirt is clinging to his sweaty body, his pants hang loose at his ankles, and his head is throbbing in sync with his heart.

"God damn appointment." he remembers, blinking open his eyes and gauging what time it might be by gloomy brightness shining through his windows. Daylight Savings can kiss his ass. 

"S—" the call dies in Dean's throat and he stifles the weak cry that wants to escape from him. 

"Up, up." Dean whispers to the cold washroom air, reaching behind to grip the rim on the tub to lift himself up. He steps out of his sweats and pulls his shirt over his head before reaching blindly for the shower faucet and turning it towards the left. 

Dean avoids looking up at the large mirror hanging on the wall and idly brings his fingers up to graze the cuts marking his stomach. Underneath the small pudge of his stomach, Dean feels the need to scratch at it. 

Once the room fills with suffocating steam, Dean steps into the shower with shaky legs with his back to the water, hissing as the hot pressure of water burn and turn his skin a rude red colour. Dean closes his eyes and tilts his head back, curling his toes at the tingling sensation that racks his body. Dean feels around blindly, fingers grazing against the sharp metal that resides on the otherwise empty soap holder. Dean brings the old blade up to the dry part under his stomach and slides the edge to open the pliant skin. 

Even further below, his cock twitches in interest.

"It's only ten?" Dean squints at the clock on the stove as he puts on his leather jacket over his flannel. He rubs tiredly at his eyes while he shoves his feet inside of his boots, stomping a few times to make sure they're secure. He takes one last fleeting look around him before knocking against the wood three times and picking up his keys from the glass dish and leaving.

"Novak." Dean mutters under his breath as he uses his hips to shut the car door. He thumbs at his phone, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar spelling.

"Cas–" Dean sucks his teeth. He's not gonna waste his time trying to figure it out. Dean knocks his boots against the side of the building to get the snow off and rolls his shoulders back as he steps inside the building; a small little comfort home covered in snow with Christmas lights decorating the outside.

Almost immediately, he feels out of place. The waiting room isn't too small, it's the foyer and living room connected but it's, heavy, Dean guesses; the floor is a dark coffee color with contrasting furniture and antique paintings or vases filled with flowers. All of it different from Dean's light cherry floors and blank walls and thrifted furniture. 

Dean takes note of how quiet it is.

There's a desk against the wall, angled towards the door with a bee bell that has a sign behind it that says 'Buzz Me!'. Dean presses the little dinger atop the bees head and waits. It's only a few seconds later that a soft thudding noise resonates throughout the house and Dean sees a wild tuff of raven hair and serious blue eyes come into frame. 

"Uh–" 

"Dean Winchester? Castiel Novak, pleased to meet you." the sides of Novak's eyes crinkle as a tight lipped yet friendly smile appears on his face. Dean squints his eyes. Has he seen Novak before? 

"Uh, yeah, hi." Dean raises his hand to wave awkwardly. "Pretty empty 'round here." 

"Not a lot of clients around the holidays." Novak points out and Dean nods. 

"Not a lot of therapists open around the holidays." Dean rebuttals. Novak's eyes widen a fraction and his eyebrows frown. 

"Follow me, please." Novak beckons his head to the side, voice a lot firmer then it was before. 

_Great job making your therapist hate you on the first day, Dean._

"Do I take off my shoes?" 

"What ever makes you comfortable." 

Dean toes off his boots and nudges them against the door's frame and before he has the chance to step forwards, Novak glances over him. 

"You aren't hot?" 

Dean shrugs and eyes his layers. "'M alright." 

Novak hums and and gives Dean another tight lipped smile before turning on his heels and walking down the hall with Dean in tow. 

"Do you have any plans for the holidays?" Novak asks politely, turning his head to look at Dean.

"Probably order some pizza, find a shitty Netflix Original to judge. What about you, doc?" 

They walk into what Dean assumes is the room where he's supposed to strip himself of his trauma; the walls are a comforting blue and the furniture is grey instead of a blinding white and something about it irks Dean.

"Chinese is what I had on the menu. Maybe a documentary on Bees." Dean doesn't miss the beeswax socks Novak has on.

"No family?" Dean wonders outloud. Novak closes the door. "None that I would enjoy spending time with." 

"Guess we're two loners, huh?" Dean chuckles and Novak settles down in a plush armchair before gesturing Dean to do the same in the couch across from him. 

"No family either?" 

Dean swallows, looks down at his socked feet, and shrugs. "Brother just moved in with his girlfriend so we're givin' him some time to settle before we head up there."

"Oh, your parents live far?" 

"Etobicoke." Dean waves his hand. "Just about thirty minutes." 

"Québec." Novak counters.

Dean whistles. "Must be a drive." 

"I don't visit. Maybe to see my sister if she's home but other than that." Novak's lips pull into a frown before he straightens his position. Dean feels the need to do it as well and the skin on his stomach stretches. 

"Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. I'm Castiel Novak and I will be your therapist, you can call me Castiel if that's comfortable with you." Castiel, a odd name when Dean thinks about it, is big. Dean doesn't mean body wise, if anything he seems like it would hurt to lift up a crate, he means aura wise. Castiel seems very, Dean's eyes flicker down then back up and his cock twitches in his pants, _big._

"You're gonna help me stop wantin' to hump everything?" Dean imagines that there was a nicer way to say that and cringes a bit inside. 

Castiel tilts his head. "I can't promise that I'll make it stop but I can help you figure out where this need to, as you put it, "hump everything" came from, and how to better control it. For that we would need to back track, talk about your childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood." 

Dean bites back a coo at the quotations Castiel does. He really is Dean's type. He wonders if Castiel's a top or bottom. 

"Is that necessary?" 

Castiel frowns. "The backtracking?" at Dean's confirming nod Castiel purses his lips. "Yes. Like your attire, therapy has layers, we have to get through each layer to find the core. Some clients skip the layering and head straight for the core and talk about why the layers were there, some clients do a layer every month, some clients lie but eventually we get to where we need to be. Does that answer your question?" 

Dean clenches his jaw and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "There a time frame for this?" 

"Usually for teenagers or kids I make a plan since I hear the basis of what they're struggling with from their parents. However, with adults, I do an assememt. With the assement I get the symptoms or companion struggles like depression or bi-polar disorder or even imposter syndrome. That way, I am able to work on the struggles while also getting to know the trauma and then knowing how to help with the core of the problem."

Dean presses his heels together and tries not to squirm on the couch. It feels like his intestines are tied in knots and his heart is caught right in the middle of it all. Today it seems, as Dean gets that biting feeling again, that things won't be going his way.

"It's a lot to take in, I know, but we go at your own pace." 

"What are we doin' today then?" 

"I was hoping to get to know you, or we can jump right in, whatever you're comfortable with." Castiel settles back in his chair, soft eyes on Dean while Dean focuses on the rhythmic inhale and exhale expanding the suit vest Castiel has on. 

Castiel doesn't seem the type to be a bottom.

Dean's thighs clench and he presses his legs together. Maybe he _is_ a top. 

"Would you like to use the washroom?" 

Dean's eyes flicker upwards. "Sorry?" 

Castiel looks down at Dean's lap then up again. "The washroom. It's common for clients to get hard, there's no shame if you would like to relieve yourself." 

"I can't," Dean clears his throat. "I can't do it just once. I have to do it six times within fifteen minutes of each other." 

Castiel tilts his head curiously at that. "And what if you're not satisfied?" 

"I used to ah, drink?" Dean's cheeks heat with embarrassment. "But now I sleep or bake or whatever." 

"If you don't mind me asking, are you sexually active or is this strictly masturbation?" 

The flush on Dean's cheeks go further up to the tips of his ears. "Both? Mainly masturbation." 

"Why is the number six so important?" 

Dean rubs his socked feet together. "Somethin' could happen if I go over it. Like, if I go over seven then I can't drink coffee the next day or something bad happens." 

Castiel shifts. "Pardon me for asking but your soulmate," Dean looks up sharply. "Are you in any form of communication with them?" 

"People like me ain't got soulmates, n' I don't believe in that shit anyway." Dean looks down at the grey carpet. "How are people supposed to just know? Love at first sight in my fuckin' dreams." 

Castiel blinks and presses his lips together to suppress a frown. "Right. May I ask about your habits when you pleasure yourself?" 

"Habits?" Dean asks. 

"Is there a certain time? Do you do it on specific days? That sort of thing." 

"I do it everyday, usually to calm down or," Dean frowns. "Stop thinking, I guess. If I feel the need to do it then if I'm able to, I do." 

"In a parking lot, perhaps?" 

Dean glances up through his eyelashes before his eyebrows jump and he sits up fully. "Trenchcoat!" 

Castiel nods. "I wasn't going to mention it since it seems you forgot but I believe I should be open with you if I want you to be open with me." 

"Seems like you already got a full sight of me, doc." 

Castiel's eyes wander along Dean's body before his eyes lift back up and he smiles before crossing right leg over his left. "Are you into exhibitionism?" 

"Uh, not particularly? I was just in the mood to do it and I was tired and a little stressed." 

"Stressed?" 

"Haven't been working since I've been recovering from the drinking and stuff, I go back tomorrow." 

"Have you been out of rehab long?" 

"Shy of two years." 

"Congratulations." Castiel's voice is full of sincerity and kindness it makes Dean keen a little inside his throat and his cock jump in his pants. 

"Nothin' special. Only clean from drinking and drugs." 

"That's still a huge improvement. I'm sure your brother is proud. Did you have sex with the people in your rehab?" 

Dean thinks back. "Yeah. Almost everyone." 

"Did you get checked?" 

"What like for diseases?" 

"Or infections." Castiel adds. 

"I had, um, chlamydia for a short while." 

"Treated?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's good. I'm proud of you."

Dean shrinks and blushes. "Thanks." 

"Have you always pleasured yourself whenever you've felt a strong emotion?" 

"Yeah. It's the only way I can get calm, if not I'll get irritated or like I'm missing something." 

"How does it feel when you do it?" 

Dean licks his lips. "Painful? But the pain is sweet, like a ripe raspberry. I'm doing it six times a day, practically milking myself, so it's bound to hurt sometimes." 

Castiel shifts in his chair again. "Have you gone over six times?" 

"Y-yeah." 

"And what happened?" 

"My brother moved in with his girlfriend." Dean chuckles bitterly. 

"And left you alone?" 

"That's not–" 

"But it was implied." Castiel interrupts. "You do know that because you went over, it's not your fault right? That he moved?" 

Dean looks at the glass vase next to him and shrugs. "Can we talk about something else?" Dean clenches his thighs and presses his legs together again. He's harder than normal. 

"When did you start experiencing this frequent need to masturbate?" 

Dean rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "Thirteen, I think? Right around when I moved in with my uncle." 

"Did something happen before you moved in? With your biological parents?" 

Dean looks down and locks eyes with Castiel. 

_"Shh, Dean, mommy's sleeping and daddy needs something to relax him. You'll be good won't you?" John unbuckled his belt while Dean looked up at him, a lump lodged in his throat and tears clumping his eyelashes together._

_"I-I thought you only said on-once." Dean hiccuped. "My bottom h-hurts."_

_"I'll make sure it doesn't hurt this time, okay? Lift up the skirt."_

Dean blinks and looks away. "Not that I can remember." 

"Right." Castiel's eyes flicker to the clock on his desk. "Do you like dogs?" 

"Sorry?" 

"Dogs. Do you like them?" 

"Yeah, I've had a couple before."

"Dogs are very distracting. They need constant play time and attention. Maybe you want to try looking into finding a dog?" Castiel smiles softly and a little precum stains Dean's boxers. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I might." 

"We should have a constant date booked. Assuming that you're comfortable with me being your therapist." 

Dean exhales. "What days you got open?" 

"Monday mornings and evenings. Tuesday mornings; Thursday and Friday nights which is two days a week." 

"You aren't very busy are you?" 

"I like to establish myself." 

"Friday and Thursdays. Spending nights with you might be fun." 

A heated flush crawls up Dean's face once he realizes what he said. "I didn't mean—" Dean stops as he notices the matching blush on Castiel's face. 

"If-if you could show yourself out? It was nice meeting you Dean." Castiel's voice wavers a little and Dean's dick pulses lazily. 

"Nice meeting you too, Cas." Dean whispers before getting up and backing out the room, stumbling a little in the process. When he makes it to the front door, Dean all but shoves his feet inside his boots and spirts to his car. He collapses back against the cold seats and quickly shoves his hand down his pants to tug awkwardly at his cock until he comes inside his boxers with a pained groan. 

"Fuck me," he pants into the car, reaching for the glove compartment and taking out tissues to wipe his hands. 

On the way home, he spots one of the local pounds and with a firm fuck it, pulls into the parking lot. 


	3. Clementine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the show Miracle is male but played by Lexi, a female dog. Kinda weird that they changed it but whatever, Miracle will be female in this book.
> 
> my birthday is in 2 days, excited but I know my mom might call and gaslight me so that's fun.
> 
> also nobody told me in the last chap that my scheduling was weird? I fixed it tho.  
> 

"Don't stare at me like that." Dean mutters at the curious Doodle whos tail is thumping excitedly on the hardwood floor. Miracle blinks with wide, innocent eyes and barks twice, leaning on her hind paws and yipping. 

"Do you need to take a leak?" Dean asks awkwardly and Miracle barks once. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean scratches the back of his head and sighs. 

He's read the 'How to Raise a Dog For Dummies.' over six times but its harder than he imagined. Sure, him and Sammy have had dogs before but he guessed wolves that didn't want to eat them is the more appropriate term. His house is more or less dog proof which basically means all his precious vinyls are tucked between his sheets in his linen closet and his baking tools are stored up high. 

There's also a disturbing about of pee pads on the floor of his living room but hey, at least its something.

Dean rises from his crouched position, his knees creaking in the process, and gazes down at Miracle. "Walk?" Miracle barks twice, jumping up and down, her nails clacking nosily against his polished floor and small, almost miniscule, bits of hair drift to the ground and Dean huffs a laugh. 

"'Least I got that one, eh?" Dean grins to himself, grabbing the newly bought leash off the hook next to the door and gently hooking it onto Miracle's collar. Dean's fingers linger on the thick collar and he frowns deeply before straightening up and clipping the other metal bit to his belt loop. 

He doesn't bother putting on a jacket atop his layered flannels since it's one of the hotter days in the winter but does shove a pair of leather gloves into his back pocket as he Miracle yanks on the leash in her excitement, jolting Dean from his stiff position.

"I got it, I got it." Dean hushes, making quick work of grabbing his phone and keys before rapping his knuckles against the door frame three times, an old muscle memory habit that he'll never forget. As Dean is in the process of locking his door, he looks up and to the left and sees a tuff of raven hair over ugly brown moving boxes and frowns his eyebrows in confusion. 

Crowley would've told him a new tenant was moving in. Dean purses his lips and takes his key out of the hole, rethinking his false assumption. Crowley, the slimy bastard, wouldn't have told him anything.

"Hey," Dean greets as he tucks his keys in his back pocket. The person behind the box jerks and peeks from behind the destructible cardboard. Dean's heart pounds once, painfully, in his chest. Are those eyes of his always so bright?

"Cas," a lazy grin takes over Dean's features and his cheeks go warm. "Hey." a weird softness wraps around the word and the mosquitos around Dean suck his blood a little harder. 

"Mr. Winchester, hello." Castiel huffs out a similar pleasantry before walking into the apartment left of Dean's and setting down the box down with a pained groan. Dean angles his body so he can look inside the apartment, it's layout not all that different from his aside from the kitchen being on the right side instead of the left and a little lift from the entrance into the living room.

"You alright?" Dean's eyes wander over Castiel's lithe body, a peek of smooth white skin showing from where Castiel's shirt has risen because of his crouched position. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Dean can see honeycomb tattoos mark the pale limb. Castiel looks over his shoulder and the sides of his eyes crinkle as he gives Dean a small grin. 

"I don't lift heavy things often. I'm afraid I'm more of a runner." Castiel laughs a little, a light flush on his cheeks and damp hair stuck to his forehead, Dean's hand comes up to rub at his chest, a frown between his eyebrows. His heart hurts.

Miracle barks loudly and Castiel's sharp eyes flicker down to the Doodle. "Oh, well aren't you beautiful." Castiel exhales, extending his hand and Miracle barks happily, licking messily at Castiel's open turned hand. 

"Hey!" Dean snaps, tugging carefully at her leash and Castiel's grin widens. Dean shifts to his side, a warmth blooming in his gut and his cock fattening in his pants. 

"I didn't mean for you to get a dog right away." Castiel teases lightly and Dean looks away, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

"It was impulse. I saw the pound on the way back from our session and said fuck it. Lucky I did because she was on the kill list." 

"That's terrible. Why?" 

Dean glances down at Miracle. "She doesn't have a uterus, some assholes took it out before leaving her there." underneath her fluff of fur a nasty scar along her underside is only a year fresh and sensitive. 

"People are so terrible." Castiel shakes his head as he rises to his feet. "I have a cat, a beautiful black one who's blind. I found him on the street."

And as if on que, a sad mewl is heard from behind one of the locked doors. 

"Since we moved I like to keep him in one room so he can get a feel for it." Castiel explains and Dean blinks slowly, dragging his eyes from Castiel's exposed collarbones and to chapped lips and then to sparkling eyes.

"Do you want to go out?" Dean blurts right as Castiel is about to leave for the front door to carry in what looks like the final box. Dean covers his face with his hand, red covering the tips of his ears.

"I don't think that'd be appropriate–" 

"No, yeah, that's," Dean clears his throat, lifting his head up. "I mean for like, a walk. With the pets?" 

Dean's heart thuds hard against his ribs at the sight of Castiel's flushed cheeks. They weren't that pink earlier were they? 

"Ophelia is fond of the outdoors, I'll just put this box in and, um, we can go." Castiel's voice trails off into a whisper. 

"I'll wait for you in the lobby?" Dean ducks his head trying to catch Castiel's eyes but Castiel turns around quickly and nods. 

"Cool! Great! I'll see you!" by now Dean's cock has been leaking a steady stream of pre into his boxers and his hands are shaking by his sides. Dean steps out of Castiel's apartment and makes his way to the polished elevator, the only new thing they put in this apartment building. Dean walks inside, Miracle being happily dragged along, and presses the lobby button before resting against the metal railing. He presses his hand against his chest, willing his beating heart to calm down.

"Sorry, it took me a while to find Ophelia's harness." Castiel's voice sends a tingle down Dean's thigh and Dean waves his hand dismissively, shoving his phone in his back pocket, the unfinished text he was ready to send Sam prolonged for a little longer, and looking up.

Castiel has a thick blue scarf around his neck that almost touches his nose and the beige trenchcoat Dean saw hanging up in his office yesterday. 

Ophelia meows loudly, pale eyes wide and dark fur covered buy a small winter coat and booties, sniffing in the direction of Miracle who's tail wags excitedly as she waits patiently for Ophelia to sniff her. Miracle gets a little two excited and paws at Ophelia aggressively and Ophelia hisses, swatting at empty air in retaliation.

Castiel extends his hand, showing Dean the small orange in his hand, a smile in his eyes. "Clementine?" 

Dean tries to still his shaking hands as he gently takes the fruit from Castiel's soft hands. "Thank you." 

Deep down, Dean knows that if he eats it he'll feel nauseous the entire day so he opts to puts it in one of the doggy bags and tie it to his belt loop. If Castiel is bothered by it, he doesn't bother saying anything.

"Ready?" Castiel leans his back against the lobby's door and Dean ducks his head in a small nod before walking past, inhaling softly. 

Castiel smells like coffee. 

"How's your brother?" Castiel asks as they begin to walk, the cold gently caressing the parts of them not covered by warm, thick clothing. 

Dean licks his bottom lip. "Uh–"

"I'm sorry. I don't go out very much, especially with clients. I don't think I know how to turn therapist mode off." Castiel sniffles, the tip of his nose going pink. Dean gets tugged to a close tree and Miracle sniffs the tree before lifting her leg up.

"No, don't worry about it. It's fine." 

"Are you going to work?" Castiel hesitantly wonders. Ophelia curls around his leg and purrs.

"Start Monday. Little nervous though, I'll have to put on that bakery weight again." Dean pats his stomach and jiggles the small bit of fat. Miracle puts her leg down and kicks the dirt before continuing down the sidewalk.

Castiel's gaze lingers on where Dean's hand lies before he draws his eyes back up. "That's exciting! What's your bakery called?" 

"Deal With The Devil. It's lame, I know." Dean chuckles self-deprecatingly. Castiel hums low in his throat and the erection that Dean forgot about pulses lazily in his pants. 

"I've been there before. Your coffee and impala cookies taste delicious." Castiel praises and Dean's heart warms, a weird wash over his ribcage.

"It ain't much, honest. Me and my sister, Jo, run it." Dean gushes, a gummy smile on his face. 

"You have a sister?" 

"Ah, well, we're close like family. I've known her since we were in diapers. Her girlfriend helps run shop too, the nerd." Dean says fondly. 

"Have you always wanted to run a bakery?" Castiel rubs his red hands together before exhaling on them. Dean pats the back of his pants pocket and takes out the gloves stuffed there, handing them over to Castiel. 

"I don't know." Dean answers honestly, ignoring Castiel's look of surprise. "I baked with my mom when I was younger, I was her little helper but eventually," Dean purses his lips in thought. 

_"Deanie, how about you lick it, eh? It's clean, Daddy washed it." John coos low in his throat and Dean blinks at the angry thing in front of him._

_"What's the stuff on it?" Dean points at the smear of something covering the shiny head he's usually supposed to mouth at. John spreads his legs a little wider and angles his cock closer to Dean's face in the dark._

_"It's just the frosting you and mommy made, you liked it didn't you? I saw you lick the bowl clean, trying to catch my attention."_

_Dean fists at his boxers, chin wobbling. He wasn't trying to. Was he?_

Dean blinks and drops his hand to his side. Castiel is standing in front of Dean, a deep frown formed on his lips. Dean huffs out a nervous laugh, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. 

"Sorry. Zoned out for a little. I guess I kinda stopped baking with her for a while but I loved doing it. We would always enter pie contests and won every damn year." Dean licks his lips and forces his legs to move, his erection no longer fully hard but a lazy chub between his legs. "A little while after I moved out, Jo and her girlfriend called me and said they wanted to run a bakery. I said fuck it and joined up, built their place from scratch, took us two years. Haven't really seen how it's been holding up lately."

Castiel watches after him before following the slow pace. "It's holding up wonderfully. It's packed every day." 

Dean's lips twitch upwards. "What made you move here?" 

Castiel sighs. "I don't really like Québec. I've lived there my entire life yet it always felt empty and then when my mother decided to out me to our very devoted Christian family, I decided to leave right after." 

"No shit?" Dean laughs and Castiel joins with his own small chuckles. "At least you got out of that crappy situation." 

Castiel's smile dims and he looks up into Dean's eyes. "And you? Have you gotten out of your "crappy" situation?" 

Dean can only hold the gaze for a few seconds before he looks away. "You're not my therapist right now. It's cold, let's head back." Dean tugs gently on Miracle's leash to get her to stop barking aggressively at a squirrel.

Castiel bends down and picks up Ophelia. "My apologies." 

"Don't sweat it. Like you said, it's hard to turn off." a bit of shame crawls up Dean's spine. 

The walk back home is uncomfortably quiet. 

"Thanks for taking up my offer." Dean tries to make amends and Castiel shakes his head. 

"You don't need to be sorry, Dean. I overstepped a boundary, you should be more upset." Castiel pets Ophelia's head softly as he talks, probably a nervous habit. 

"You were just worried, no? Like a friend would be." Dean unclips the leash from his belt buckle and unlocks his door and Miracle trots in happily. 

"Yes, a friend." Castiel mumbles. "I–" 

Dean raises his eyebrows when Castiel shakes his head. 

And Dean can't say why he feels the need to wrap Castiel in his arms. He can't say why he almost steps forward to press a soft kiss to Castiel's cheeks. 

"Is it alright if I call you the day before I have to have to work?" 

Castiel's looks up quickly. "Of course! Any anxiety you might have I want you to tell me so you don't face any surpise attacks or shut downs." 

Dean grins. "'Course I will." 

The insides of Dean's stomach feels floaty. 

"I should finish unpacking." Castiel tips his head to his door. 

"I can always help, call me too, yeah? If you ever need anything." 

"I will, Dean. Goodbye." 

"See you later!" Dean hates that word. Goodbye. It's such shit. 

Castiel buries his face further in his scarf. "Yes, see you later, Dean." 

Dean watches Castiel walk into his apartment and close the door before he steps into his own. 

Miracle is lapping water out of her bowl, paying no attention to the world around her and Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

**_5 Notifications_ **

_Sam: I think im gonna be settled in about a week, should we go to mom and dad's then?_

_Charlie: answer your phone dipshit!_

_Jo: Sam says you're coming back on Monday?!_

_Three Idiots That Know How To Whisk:_ _Charlie: DEAN YOU'RE BACK IN TWOBDAYS?_

_Jo: That's what Sam said!!!_

Dean sighs and thumbs at Sam's message first. 

_You bringin Eileen? have therapy on Fridays so we can't stay the entire week._

And instead of replying to Jo and Charlie's texts, he presses the call button on their group chat. 

_"Dean!"_ they both shout into the phone. 

"Calm down thing one and thing two." Dean smiles. "Yeah, I'm back on Monday." 

_"Why didn't you tell us?!"_

_"The team is back again! All the regulars miss you!"_

"I wanted it to be a surprise, bird brain." Dean laughs at Charlie's offended noise. 

_"Don't insult my lady!"_ Jo bites with no malice. 

Dean's heart stings at that. Don't get him wrong, he's glad Jo found her soulmate when they were teens but he's jealous. He doesn't think that he'll over stop being jealous. 

_"How was rehab?"_ Charlie doesn't sugarcoat her question and Dean doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or not. 

"It was fine. Sam cleaned out all the alcohol before I got back and he's been monitoring me so I'm almost a year clean now."

_"That's amazing, Dean. Shit, can you still go to the Roadhouse? Ma wants to see you."_

Dean flops down on the couch and toes off his boots. "Yeah, I can. I'll be drinking fizzy water and Pepsi all night." 

Dean presses his phone between his ear and his shoulder and tugs his pants and boxers down, allowing his cock to flap against his stomach. 

_"We gotta get back to work but we're so excited to have you back. Love you!"_

"Love you too." Dean wraps a hand around his cock before dropping his phone onto the couch and thumping at the end call button. He leans his head back against the couch and thumbs at his leaking urethra, digging his nail into hit and bucking his hips into his fist. 

"Oh," Dean curls his toes and uses his other hand to cup at his balls. He hates the feel of his hands, it makes heat rise in his throat and tears well in his eyes but he feels good. His dick is hard and leaking steadily and his balls are already drawing up. 

Dean sinks further into the couch, tightening his fist and peeling back the foreskin. "Fuck me," his thighs tense and relax.

No matter how disgusting it might feel, he'll do it again and again and again because he doesn't know what might happen if he stops or if he doesn't follow the pattern anymore. 

Dean thinks about soft hands, hands larger than his and capable of making him fall apart. He thinks about the clementine still in the doggy bag and the person who gave it to him who smells of rich coffee.

"C-Cas!" Dean's voice cracks, from pleasure or from shame he isn't sure. "I'm–oh, _oh!"_ he spills onto his fist, disgust taking form of the cum staining his hand. 

Dean closes his eyes and sucks in his bottom lip to keep from sobbing. 

He needs a drink. 


	4. Big & Small

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My birthday went pretty well, got money to buy roller skates!! V drained though. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Not edited.

Dean doesn't wake up from nightmares in a panic; a heavy lump sets in his throat blocking him from screaming, his body lays stiff against the impressionable mattress, and occasionally he can feel the sheets below him go wet with his fear. He doesn't wake up panting with wide eyes and a racing heart; he wakes up disgusted and the blanket protecting him from the cold now makes his body run hot.

Luckily Miracle isn't on the bed with him tonight so Dean slips from under his sour sheets and peels off his boxers, throwing them on top of his blanket before yanking the corners of the fitted sheet off the mattress with trembling fingers and creating a ball filled with his messy sheets. 

The laundry room should be opened since Crowley never locks the damn thing. Dean shoves the sheets into his overflowing laundry basket and shivers at the cool breeze between his sticky legs. Dean sighs and pads to the bathroom, half hard cock bobbing between his legs. He reaches up and grabs his rag that hangs on the shower railing to run under warm water from his sink. 

"Pain in the fuckin' ass." Dean mutters as he gently washes under his balls and between his cheeks while using his other hand to cup lazily at his leaking erection. Three pumps later and a firm press against his hole has Dean sighing quietly into open air, cum splattering between his fingers. 

Dean uses his rag to clean up the mess, deciding he might as well wash it along with everything else, before finding his last pair of clean boxers and tugging them over his legs. He bothers to find one of Sam's old shirts and put it on, the fabric brushing over the tops of his thighs. 

Miracle's ears perk up at Dean's shuffling but she remains asleep and Dean pats the top of her head lightly before dumping his laundry detergent and card in his basket and picking it up to rest on his hip. 

Dean yawns, the corners of his lips tearing, and lazily taps his knuckles against the front door before letting it close behind him. 

"Should've worn pants." Dean mutters, curling his toes and shivering as he waits for the elevator. 

It's rare for someone to be down here so late, the possibility of it close to nothing as the lights automatically turn off after 10PM so Dean's a little shocked to see someone sitting atop one of the dryers and blowing smoke outside the screened window. 

"Smokings not allowed." Dean rasps, setting his basket a few washers away and the person startles, almost dropping their joint and coughs, puffs of smoke coming from their mouths. 

"Shit, sorry. I didn't think anybody would come down here." a shiver runs down Dean's spine at the gravelly voice. 

"Cas?" 

Castiel turns his head, dark eyes locking onto Dean's own and Dean's breath hitches.

"Dean," pink juts from Castiel's mouth to wet his lips and he looks down, blowing lightly at the dying joint. It burns bright in the dark, luminating Castiel's lips. "Why are you up so late?" 

"Same reason as you, I imagine." Dean separates his wet sheets by thickness, using three machines so they all wash correctly. 

"Nightmares?" Castiel guesses and Dean uncapps his detergent, tipping it into the soap holders. 

"Fortune telling should'a been your carrier." Dean jokes. Castiel hums and leans his head back, exhaling heavily while letting his shoulders sag. Dean tries not to watch the silhouette of his adams apple bob. He fails miserably. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean sets the settings on the washers and presses his card against the reader before pressing start on all of them. 

Castiel hesitates as he lifts the blunt to his lips. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

"Only on Fridays." Dean counters and walks over, leaning against the wall in front of Castiel's legs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Castiel stares down at him, eyes hodded and a little red around the edges. Dean presses his legs together.

"I don't want to tell you anything you aren't ready for." Castiel shakes his head with a small smile. 

"C'mon. You tell me something, I'll tell you something." 

Castiel huffs out a laugh. "Bargaining?" 

"It'll work, won't it?" Dean's lips curls upward. 

Castiel shifts on the dryer, staring down at the rough rolling paper between his fingers. "Sometimes I think about what my clients have to go through and I always think my trauma is lacking in comparison but then my nightmares are filled with my mother hitting me and I think its something to be dismissed and it's not a big deal but I wake up and," Castiel rubs at his face with his free hand. "I wake up and I'm terrified." 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, a weight tumbling down on his heart and effectively crushing it. "Everyone's trauma matters, no matter the intensity." 

"I know, I just–" Castiel groans in frustration and Dean's cock perks up at the noise. "I feel guilty for feeling traumatized." 

"I do too." Dean admits lowly. "I feel like I don't have the time to be sad about what happened, other people have been through worse, what space do I have to complain?" 

"Exactly." Castiel breathes. 

"Sometimes I think I deserved it." Dean whispers.

The sounds of heavy laundry tumbling is too loud in Dean's ears; his heart beats loudly in his chest and he shifts nervously.

"Can I hug you?"

Dean sucks in a shaky breath and nods. "If you're okay with it."

Castiel slides off the dryer, joint abandoned on top, and wraps his thick arms around Dean's middle, squeezing the small fat there. Dean raises his own arms and wraps them around Castiel's neck.

"You're gonna be okay." Castiel mumbles into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly. 

Dean's dick twitches and grows between them, leaking steadily. 

Dean's feels Castiel's cheeks go warm. 

"'M sorry." Dean wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

"Don't be." Castiel holds Dean closer, hands sliding down until they reach the hem of his shirt just to push underneath the fabric and trail his cold hands up Dean's sides.

"Cas," Dean breathes, boxers tightening. There's a rule about this isn't there? What they're doing is unprofessional, wrong. Dean's heart slams against his chest at the thought of it. "Tighter?" 

Castiel presses Dean flush against his body, running his nose up the side of Dean's neck. Castiel smells heavy with the dirt of the earth and burning sticks; Dean's mind goes dizzy with it. 

Moonlight shines weakly on them, streams of it lighting naked thighs and muscled arms. Castiel's body is hot against his, against where their skin touches and Dean can feel Castiel's heart beat just as fast as his. 

Dean's cock rests against Castiel's thigh, dripping clear fluid on his pajama pants. 

They stay like that for a while. Castiel stroking Dean and Dean breathing in the heavily smell of Castiel, trying not to cum on his thigh. Castiel trails his finger tips up Dean's spine. 

"Dean I–" 

The dryer buzzer sounds loudly, jolting Dean away from Castiel causing his back to smack against the wall. A tingle worms it's way up Dean's neck and he presses a hand against his frantic heart. 

Castiel turns to open the dryer and empty it into his basket. Still crouched, Castiel bounces on his toes in thought.

"I'm sorry, Dean." 

"Don't be. It's just, um," Dean sucks in his bottom lip. It's just what, exactly? 

Castiel stands up. arms flexing as he heaves the basket up with him, shifting it to his hip so he can grab the blunt. "My apologies. I'll see you on Friday. I hope work goes good." 

Without waiting for a response, Castiel leaves the laundry room leaving Dean in the dark. 

Dean palms lazily at his cock and shudders. 

He can still feel the heat from where Castiel was pressed against him. 

* * *

Dean unlocks the back door of the bakery, letting Miracle through the door first and stepping in after. He sets his duffle bag on the floor haphazardly, tugging out an extra food and water bowl to set against the open space next to the door. He doesn't have to fill them until later. Dean straightens his back and inhales deeply; their office still smells of pastries and printer paper.

Dean curses when Miracle jumps on the couch, nuzzling into one of the many pillows they have stacked on it. 

Jo will probably kill him later.

Dean looks around the office, nostalgia blanketing over him. Charlie's action figures are still lined up high on their bookshelf. Jo's bartender books are stacked carelessly in a corner and Dean's old guitar is resting on top of the stack. 

Dean rolls his shoulders, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the desk chair before walking out of the office and towards the front of the shop but stops short when he hears a loud clang and an all too familiar voice curse loudly. 

Dean stifles a snort and walks towards their kitchens, noting that their display case is more than halfway full, and leans against their open frame and watch Jo sweep up the flour spilled on the floor. "Now what if there were children around Jo?" 

Jo whips her head around, her ponytail whipping to the side in his rush and her eyes brighten. 

"Dean! Shit, man!" She brushes her flour covered hands on her apron before rushing and pulling Dean into a fierce hug. "I've missed you." she mumbles into his chest, voice a little choked up. 

"Don't go soft on me now. It was only two years." Dean ruffles her head and Jo tightens her thin arms around his waist. Her weight, her warmth, it's different from Castiel's. 

"Two years of me worrying my ass off and keepin' this place afloat without you." Jo laughs wetly and Dean strokes her head before kissing the top of it. 

"Yeah, I'm here now so cut it with the chick flicks." 

Jo scoffs and releases her embrace. "How are you? I mean? How is it being sober?" 

Dean cringes. He remembers in the meetings the center had they always asked him and he never knew how to respond. He was almost always too busy screwing the nurses or picking at his healing cuts to make them bleed again. 

But if he were to really think about it, to answer honestly, he would say being sober is horrible. He wants to drink. He wants to meet his favorite waiter at a local diner who always hands him his menu with unmarked pills tucked between laminated pages. He wants to crawl out of his skin or be able to magically replace his liver anytime he goes on a bender for a few days or months. 

"It's good," he says instead, watching Jo's shoulders drop in relief. "I'm good." and really, is he convincing himself or her? 

"Bobby and Ellen say they better not catch your ass back there again." Jo grins before it fades and she leans against one of their metal baking tables. "You're headin' up to Mary and John's for the holidays?" 

Dean busies himself by fixing his old apron that's hung up on a silver hook and Jo clears her throat pointedly. 

"It won't be a full week." he mumbles with a shrug. 

"What if it does end up being a full week? What if it ends up being two?" she challenges.

"Jo–" 

"You can't go back there!" 

Dean closes his eyes tightly and sighs. "That night," he stops himself, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I wish you never saw it."

_John exhales hot in Dean's ear, big body shuddering over the underaged one beneath him. Dean doesn't like this position, his knees always bruise and John doesn't let him put on any boxers afterward. John likes to call him a cum bucket and watch his cum drip out of him. But John is drunk tonight, drunk and tired so maybe Dean will get it easy tonight._

_Dean jolts on the floor, moved by John's sloppy thrusts, and sucks in his bottom lip to hold in a sob._

_It's almost over. It's almost over. It's almost over. Dean repeats the mantra in his head until the feeling of sticky lube on his thighs and heat in his stomach becomes to much for him and tears stain the carpet below him and he lets out a throaty groan._

_"Atta boy," John pinches Dean's nipple. "Knew you'd like it eventually."_

_Maybe it's because John is loud, groaning low and deep in Dean's ear because Mary is working late tonight, that Dean doesn't hear it. Maybe it's because John is grinding his zipper into Dean's ass, leaving angry marks that he'll have to but polysporin on tomorrow. Maybe it's because Dean is too focused on the searing pain in his lower back and knows that he'll have to clean the blood out of the carpet before going back to sleep, that he doesn't hear the creak on top of the stairs._

_That he doesn't see wide, innocent eyes staring at the scene in front of her, her stomach churning and making her sick. He doesn't see it until John's whiskey breath burns his ear and semen shoots inside of him because only then does he look up and see Jo. Jo who has a hand covering her mouth and tears in her eyes. Jo who doesn't know what to do because they don't teach this to fourteen year olds in school._

_That night, when Dean is scrubbing the blood out the carpet and John is sitting, watching, Dean explains in a quiet voice what he saw._

_"You and Sam stay at Bobby's for a bit. Get her to keep quiet and then come back."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_Dean moves in with Bobby and Ellen at fifteen with only one goal: keep Jo quiet._

_Sam and Dean move back in two months later and John stops having sex with him in the living room._

"Did you," Jo sighs. "Does Sam know?" 

"It's none of his business." 

"He's studying for the bar right? I'm sure he has some lawyer friends who can–" 

"Jo–" 

"John deserves to go to jail!" Jo shouts, cheeks an angry red and Dean rubs his eyes tiredly. 

The bell hanging above the front door rings throughout the bakery and Dean uses it as his escape. 

"This conversation isn't over." Jo promises and Dean turns on his heels, making his way to the cash register while blinking back the tears threating to spill over.

"Welcome to Deal With The Devil, what are ya havin' today?" Dean looks up with his signature grin before his brain catches up to the person in front of him. 

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greets, a light pink dusting his cheeks. 

"Cas," Dean looks over Castiel's outfit, his previous half chub now thickening in his jeans. "What can I get you?" 

"A large coffee, black, please. And a honey cookie." 

"Comin' right up." Dean tugs a pair of gloves out their box and slips them on. He starts by making the starting the coffee first and turning his head to call into the kitchen. "When is Charlie coming in?" 

"An hour. She's stuck coding for her class." Jo responds and Dean waits for the coffee to start dipping before getting a compostable paper bag and putting their honey drizzled sugar cookie inside of it. Dean thinks about putting another one in there but the rational part of his brain scolds him. 

"You have clients this early in the morning?" Dean slides the cookie over the counter as Castiel taps his card gently against the reader. It's only seven in the morning, the sun has just barely woken up themselves.

"Not until nine, I was up for a while. I was hoping you would call but it looks like you had no anxieties about work?" Castiel's peers at Dean curiously. 

Dean licks his lips and he feels pre stain his boxers when Castiel follows the movement with his eyes. "Yeah, no, I'm good." Dean clears his throat when it comes up in pitch. 

Castiel lowers his voice a little. "About last night–" 

"What about it? Did something happen?" Dean cuts in harsher than he meant to and he turns around, grabbing a recyclable cup to pour Castiel's coffee in. 

Castiel stays quiet and Dean looks at him from the side of his eye, eyebrows frowning when Castiel's fingers tighten on the paper bag. 

"Of course." Dean's heart clenches when Castiel looks up with a forced smile when Dean slides the coffee over to him. "I'll see you on Friday, Mr. Winchester."

Dean watches Castiel's back as he leaves before telling Jo he's headed to the bathroom. Once there he locks himself in the closest stalls and unzip his pants before pulling out his dick and rubbing the underside of it with his finger. 

Why is Jo so concerned about him going back home? It's fine. Dean can handle himself. John won't touch him anymore. 

Dean sucks in a shaky breath and slips his hand underneath is shirt so he can flick the hardening pink nub. 

His hands don't feel like his own, the thought of who's it actually is makes his bottom lip wobble and bile rise in his throat. Dean squeezes his cock and tightens his fingers around the nub. Cum dribbles over his fingers and his balls pulse lazily. 

Dean closes his eyes as he leans his head back and sighs. "How gross." 


	5. Tolerance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone. for the support. I appreciate it with my whole being. I think I have gathered some of my thoughts and feelings and set them in order, I just needed some time. Thank you for being patient. 
> 
> My Ko-fi is currently down so if any of you tried to look for it, I deleted it.

Dean wonders what it must be like to be in love. Actually, no, he wonders what it might be like to fall in love. He isn't sure if there's much of a difference aside from being with your desired partner or the progress getting there.

He wants to know how it must feel; how one fleeting glance or a brush of hands can make two people so disgustingly happy. He wants it. No matter how he may bitch about how sappy it must be, how co-dependent those people perceive themselves to be. He wants to be greedy and selfish and co-dependent too. 

Apparently, he has to love himself first. A line said by toxic positive influencers and a lady that made him bend over and cough twice when he was admitted. 

"Love yourself. Love your worth and then it'll get better." she had said while snapping her gloves off and handing him an ugly blue uniform that reminded him of diapers.

Dean is worthless. What is there to love that hasn't been tainted? That hasn't been touched? 

Dean stares at the shower head, its shiny metal looking brand new even though he's lived here for over a year; the soap bars that hang on his shower rack are barely used as well.

Dean's heart staggers and tears well in his eyes, he wonders, briefly, if he has the right to be this tired. He's only been back to work for five days and it feels like he's out of touch. Like working is distracting him from being distracted, from laying in bed and scrolling aimlessly though Instagram.

Dean runs a shaky hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. "Such bullshit." 

Naked and uncomfortable, he drops his head back with a huff and turns around to crawl back into bed under his two comforters and weighted blanket with the curtains drawn shut. He barely has time to get settled under the warmth before his phone buzzes violently from under his pillows. Dean paws for it blindly and puts the phone on speaker.

"Hello?" Dean sighs as his eyes slide shut. At the sound of his voice, Miracle trots in from the living room and hops onto the bed, jolting it and making Dean's head dip uncomfortably until she settle right above his head.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester."

An odd gushy feeling mashes inside of Dean. "Hiya, Cas. How's it going?" 

"I'm good, Mr. Winchester. And you?" 

Dean shrugs even though Castiel can't see him and plays with the pads on the bottom of Miracle's paw. "You can call me Dean, Mr. Winchester is a little too formal."

On the other line, Castiel inhales and exhales lowly. "I believe I may of caused tension between us after, um, the laundry room incident. It was shown to me that I made you uncomfortable so I would prefer to say Mr. Winchester to reestablish the therapist and client relationship." 

Dean blinks up at the ceiling, an uncomfortable wet lodge forming in his throat. "You didn't–I wasn't uncomfortable. I just didn't want Jo to overhear or know about us–not that there is an _us–_ I just," Dean closes his eyes tightly. He's not making the situation better. 

"Yes. Yes, there is no us, as you put it." Castiel clears his throat. "I was calling to tell you that today's session won't be held at the office but at my apartment. It looks like the building wasn't properly insulated and caused a few problems. Are you okay with the change of location or we could push this Thursday and Friday's appointment to next week and do another session the next Monday evening." 

Dean's mind briefly flickers through variations of what Cas' apartment might look like. "Yeah I'm okay with the location change." 

"I usually wouldn't do this with a client but I should be there in half an hour, I have a spare key in the flower pot on the balcony and I see that ours are quite close. You could let yourself in and wait in the office?" Dean's eyebrows twitch downwards at the nervousness in Castiel's words.

"That's where you put your spare?" Dean jokes, trying to lighten the situation.

Castiel lets out an airy chuckle. "I believed I would have reliable neighbors to get it for me. As you can see, I wasn't wrong. The office is the extra room down the hall from the kitchen. I'll see you soon, Mr. Winchester." 

"Bye, Cas." Dean thumbs at his phone until it greys out before turning off. 

Dean taps the screen twice before glancing at the time. Shit, it's almost seven. Castiel is expecting him to already be there. 

Dean rubs at his eyes tiredly before rolling out of bed and tugging on a pair of boxers he suspects are clean and loose fitting clothing rather than his common jeans and flannel. He also doesn't bother with his heavy boots and instead opts for a pair of fluffy house slippers. Miracle watched him curiously, her ears lifting and dropping and head tilting side to side. 

Dean pats her head again before making his way to the living room Dean shudders violently and curses as he opens the balcony door, small, innocent snowflakes drift into the living room as he steps outside. 

"Huh." Dean purses his lips as he stares at the yellow flower pot filled with soil and a key poking out of it like a blooming flower. He carefully stands on the bottom metal railings and braces his hand on the icy top rail as he reaches over and takes the key in between his fingers. 

"Sonovabitch, it's cold." Dean sniffles and uses his red, shaking hands to close the balcony door. Miracle, who seems to have come back from Dean's room, is chewing viciously on a rubber duck so Dean decided it's best to leave her here. He'll take her for a walk when he gets back. 

"Be good." Dean calls half-heartedly knowing that Miracle won't be pulling out from the fantasy land she's in right now. His knuckles graze the door frame and bruise at the three repeated knocks as he leaves.

Dean taps the mulch covered key on the door knob, biting at his lip anxiously. He can go in, he got permission, it's okay. Dean grinds his teeth together and pushes the key into the lock; his heart jumps in his chest when the door makes a unlocking click. 

Castiel's apartment smells like coffee grounds and dirt. 

Dean pushes the door open just enough so that he can enter before closing it softly. A loud, familiar meow can be heard from a closed room door. Dean takes a look around.

Off white curtains that are open just halfway to allow a steady stream of light to hit plants and their overlapping leaves atop sturdy Ikea shelves; Dean takes note of lack of television along with a dining table and chairs; the only reason the house looks full is because of the many plants decorating the house and a plush dark blue couch that goes well with the dark wood interior. The minimalism looks so lonely; a stark contrast to Dean's thrifted leather couch; pilled up vinyls that hold his dying, or dead, succulents; and subtle holes in the walls.

Dean rubs the underside of the key, eyes flickering towards curious paintings hung up on cream colored walls. He comes to a stop and tilts his head, trying to figure out the painting; its a set of scribbled sketches where the pencil hasn't been lifted up from the paper, Dean can make out a thigh and arms but they seem bound. Dean shakes his head. He's probably wrong. 

Dean looks away, a small tingle of curiosity in the back of his head, and rests his hand on the door knob next and slowly pushes it open, a line of light widening as he steps inside. Dean makes a low noise in the back of his throat, looking around the room curiously. 

"Should've expected it to look the same." Dean mutters, walking forward until he makes it towards the heavy wood desk so he can set the key down. Dean squints his eyes as the sunlight glares at them and lifts his hand to shield them as he walks to the curtains and tugs on one until the sun is partially covered. Dean drops his arm, glancing down for a second and back up before frowning his eyebrows and looking down again and crouching down. 

"Maybe it's a cat collar?" Dean uses his index finger to lift up a black collar, maybe around an inch thick that looks like it can fit around his wrist. There's three buttons where it can be fastened to adjust the size. Dean frowns critically at it; it looks brand new, no noticeable wears or tearing. Maybe Ophelia hasn't worn this one yet? 

"Is my floor more interesting than the couch, Mr. Winchester?" 

Dean's ears tense and pull back at the sudden noise and his heart jerks in his chest. He takes a deep breath before pressing the palms of his hands down on his knees and pushing himself up before turning around.

Castiel shoulders off his coat with a gentle smile in Dean's direction before he turns to drape it over the desk chair. Dean's gaze lingers on the side of Castiel's face and the corners of his lips tilt downward. Are those tear tracks? 

"I found this on the floor. Maybe Ophelia dragged it in?" Dean sets the lightweight leather on the desk, earning a side glance from Castiel before a low, almost menacing hum shakes Dean's core.

"It was meant to be a gift for my last partner, they didn't take kindly to it." Castiel explains shortly with a small shrug. 

"Oh, so it's a bracelet?" Dean wonders aloud and Castiel straightens up and looks at Dean with a raised eyebrow before his face relaxes and he gathers a notebook and pen. 

"I guess, yes, it could be a bracelet of sorts. How was your week?" Castiel gestures for Dean to sit down on the couch before sitting down in the chair across. 

Dean sits down with a small huff and rises then drops his shoulders. "For now it's been normal. How was yours?" 

"A little overwhelming but I was able to work through it and feel a bit better. Do you mind going into a little bit more detail about what normal might look like to you?" 

Dean tilts his head to the side as he stares at Castiel's eyelashes and a heavy weight of something settles in his stomach and a small tingle sends a shiver down his spine. 

Castiel stops writing and peers up through his eyelashes. "Dean?" 

Dean blinks in a slowly and licks his lips in thought. "I worked all week, no long shifts since I'm just getting back into it, I walked Miracle and made plans to go visit my family for the holidays." 

"Is the visit with your sister Jo?"

"Uh, no actually, my brother and I are going to head back home to see our mom and, yeah." Dean's throat closes a little at the thought of saying "dad" and he clenches his jaw. 

Castiel nods slowly, hand moving elegantly on yellow pages. "Are you excited?" 

"Yeah. It's been a while since we've been up there." 

"I know that our first session left off on an awkward note but I wanted to know how you're feeling now that your brother has been gone for a little more than a week. I assume he didn't leave on a negative note." 

"It's a little quiet and there's no hair everywhere except for Miracle's now, so," Dean shrugs, glancing away for a second before looking at Castiel again. 

"Okay. That's not what I'm asking, how do you feel about it? Do you still feel responsible because you didn't—" 

Dean shrinks into the couch and pins his ears back to try to block out what Castiel is saying.

"Why were you crying?" he snaps, interrupting Castiel who doesn't look upset but a little shocked and understanding. Dean looks down at his lap and blinks back the tears getting ready to fall from his eyes. This is so shit.

"My doctor gave me some unfortunate news; I haven't been feeling the best this week and it seems that I have a small case of Soulmate Rejection. They believe that it will most likely worsen over time but gave me some medication to lessen the pain." 

"Isn't the worst case scenario for SR–" a long needle pierces Dean's heart and he looks down to rub at his chest with a short wince. Castiel's eyes go soft and sad around the edges. 

"When I first met them, I had a feeling that this would be the case." Castiel says. "I've come to terms with it." 

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It's just another reason why soulmates are bullshit. I mean, why allow the universe to pick your partner? What if their abusive? What if they're a murderer? And if they don't even feel for you, death is just waitin' around the corner."

"If I recall, you said you didn't have one. Are those reasons why you choose not to accept your soulmate?" 

Dean looks up at the ceiling. "People like me, we ain't got soulmates. We can't even love ourselves, how are we supposed to love someone who we, inherently, already do?" Dean argues, irritated and his thighs clench and unclench. 

"Who said you had to love yourself?" Castiel asks, genuine curiosity in his voice which makes Dean raise his head to look at those baby blues head on. "From a young age, children are taught to love themselves just as they would others but what if you don't love others, that child is then seeking validation in something they possibly can't feel and they'll mistake abuse or manipulation as love. I believe that instead of being taught to love themselves, they should learn to tolerate themselves; to live with themselves. Love is easy to fake but learning to be so aware of yourself and what you can handle is harder." 

Dean purses his lips, the gears turning in his head. 

Castiel takes a deep breath, shifts in his chair, and stares at Dean. "I don't love my soulmate because I don't know them on a personal level. I know them on a work level, a professional level, but my affections don't go that far. I need connection and deep intimacy that I definitely won't get or feel from others which is why I tolerate things that don't overstep my boundaries. So now, I can learn to start tolerating my soulmate while having boundaries instead of loving them off the bat because then it would be fake." 

"It's kinda like how you can love a person but not like them." Dean tries to connect and Castiel nods. 

"And when you say people like you do you mean people who are hypersexual?" 

Dean goes to open his mouth but blinks, frowns, and closes it. Now that he thinks about it, he knows that a couple people from his last group actually did find their soulmates.

"I think maybe I mean people who go through the type of shit I have or whatever or people who don't really care to live." the words feel clumsy and odd coming from his mouth. 

"Is there a reason you would like to tell me why you don't care to live?" Castiel asks carefully. 

Dean shrugs again. "I mean, I'm not really useful anymore. I'm not being used anymore." 

"Like a toy?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Do you see yourself as a toy?" 

Something warm and damp falls on Dean's thumb and he rubs at his eyes aggressively. "I don't fuckin' know." 

Castiel sets his pen and notebook down and slides a box of tissues over closer to Dean. "We don't have a lot of time left so I'm going to wrap it up here. Do you think you could complete a small homework assignment for me?" 

Dean nods with a small sniffle. 

"You can journal this or keep it in your mind for next session tomorrow. I would like you to find five things you tolerate about yourself and five things you tolerate about others. That's all. Five things for you and five things for other people." 

"I think I can do that." Dean mumbles. 

"Good–perfect, that's perfect." Castiel smiles softly. "Do you want me to walk you out?" 

"'S fine." Dean looks down at the floor as he stands, clenching his fists together as he tries not to let anymore tears spill. "I'll see you tomorrow, doc." 

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Winchester." 

Dean is only two steps into his apartment before Miracle is circling around him and hot tears start sliding down his cheeks. 

_"What's Daddy supposed to do without you, Deanie?" John husks low and deep as he runs his hand through Dean's sweat-matted hair. "So useful, huh."_

_Dean's stomach is tight with nausea and saliva pools from the sides of his mouth as John lets out a heavy sigh and tightens his hand on Dean's hair._

_"You ain't gonna be any good if you leave Daddy, okay? My little solider."_

Dean takes gasping breaths and uses the back of his hand to muffle any noise coming from his mouth. 

He wants to be useful again. 


End file.
